Dogless in Studio City: sharing the sidewalks with the neighborhood dogs.

There is something to be said about spending time with one's self. By that I mean; without the distraction of daily chores, without that inner dialog of mind chatter, without family or friends, and most certainly without that universal embryological chore, our CELL. Sadly, I learned that I had to add to that list, learning to walk without a dog at my side. This seemingly small challenge has been like climbing K2 in the dead of winter. I can not remember a time in my life when I ventured outside by myself for the simply pleasure of a stroll around the neighborhood.  

Now, I have been walking my neighborhood for over ten years, and you might  think in that time I would have at least met my neighbors. Maybe even moved their unwanted yard sale junk to my pile of yard sale junk  in the garage,or watched as their children grew, or signed some petition for the River Project when the city cut funding. The answer is no. I hate to admit that I am a product of Los Angeles, its cyberspace community, and the ever growing cocoon syndrome. If it were not for the hundreds of dogs held within a couple square acres, no body in Studio City would venture beyond their 50' x 75'-plus plot of land.

Sadly however, the solitary silence that rises from the concert was paid for by the passing of my dear Jack Russell, Rhea. But within this new territory comes enlightenment. The neighborhood dogs who had filed down the same streets that Rhea and I once walked, seem to instinctively know my loss. They see me as a human in need of a little dog love. Yes, I tell them in my intuitive dog voice, I am currently dog-less in Studio City.  To their owners, walking dogless is a moniker similar to proclaiming to be a communist in the '60's. There is an unspoken horror over my affliction.  Then, as if by magic or maybe just a need to expose my wound, they  stop, and allow their dogs to bestow their sympathy on the poor dogless woman. These, the same people who once cross to the other side of the street to avoid contact (supposedly a dog owner courtesy), now embrace our union.

To my surprise I found another world in which was shared by other dog owners. We shared, I listened, and  they proclaimed similar grief over the loss of a beloved animal. There was comfort in numbers, and now on my dog-less walks, I am  guaranteed a daily dose of  dog slobbers, and a smattering of dog stories that make me smile.